Holding On and Letting Go
by rosabelle317
Summary: Claim for the closerficfest, for the prompt "Sharon and Rusty, coping with the sudden death of Sharon Beck."
1. September

**Notes:** I claimed the prompt "coping with the sudden death of Sharon Beck" for the closerficfest and had a rough draft written when I realized it needed to be longer than 4000 words. But since I took so long to figure that out I'm late posting it (or, I swear I didn't set out to write the worst Mother's Day story of all time), so I'm going to post it in installments instead. There are five parts, the remaining four of which I'm still editing, and _possibly_ a companion story later. Thanks as always to SChimes for listening to my endless whining and more importantly for helping me with the title.

 **Holding On and Letting Go**

 **Part I: September**

On what should have been Sharon Beck's twenty-second day as a free woman, Sharon Raydor arrived home just before midnight. She slipped out of her shoes in the hallway and let herself into the condo as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake Rusty if he was asleep. That was something he'd had so little of the past few weeks.

Sleep was the least of things that seeing his mother in a coffin had robbed from him.

She saw no light coming from beneath the door at the far end of the bedroom hall and tried her best to tiptoe across the floor. It was difficult with her feet as sore as they were, but she managed. Just outside his door, Sharon stopped. She curled her fingers around the heels of her shoes and let her weight shift from foot to foot as she stood there, staring long and hard at the closed door. Even if he were awake, as she suspected, she knew that he wouldn't let her in. It was easier to come home to the silence than it was to hear almost-muffled sobs and not be allowed to comfort him.

With one last look at the door, she went to her own room and slipped into bed.

Despite her late night, she rose early.

Sharon clipped up her hair, wrapped herself in her softest robe, and went barefoot to the kitchen. She wanted to catch Rusty before he left in the morning, and she knew Rusty wanted to leave before she could catch him.

She didn't want to wake him, either, if he'd finally fallen asleep, and she was as quiet as she could be as she opened the cabinets for some bowls. A moment later, she set down the measuring cups and went looking for a recipe. They ate pancakes often enough on the weekend, but she hadn't made waffles since Rusty's last birthday.

She paused with the cookbook in her hands, remembering suddenly how Rusty had once offered to make her breakfast every morning, not because he'd really wanted to but because he'd thought it was necessary to make himself useful if he wanted her to keep him.

Dead or not, there were moments when Sharon found herself thinking of Rusty's other mother and just wanted to...

She had no idea what.

Still, there was no relief in her death, and certainly no joy. When she saw Rusty, it hurt her to look at him and see the pain he hid just below the surface. He'd had his mother back just long enough to get used to her, and Sharon Beck had done better than anyone had expected she would in jail. She'd maintained her sobriety. She'd behaved herself. She'd been making plans for what to do with her life afterwards.

If Rusty had had doubts, he'd also had hope. And there _had_ been doubts, many of them. As much as he'd wanted to believe that this time would be different, he hadn't forgotten what had happened with rehab the summer before, his mother relapsing into her old habits as soon as she was free.

Sharon had shared his concerns.

Both of them had been worried about drugs.

Sharon Beck suffering a heart attack at thirty-six days before her release date wasn't a scenario that Sharon had lost any sleep over.

The only comfort the autopsy had offered was that she'd been clean and sober, but it was the drug use that had weakened her heart.

Still, she thought it meant something to Rusty, for all that he hadn't mentioned her since the funeral.

He hadn't said much of anything since the funeral.

It wasn't quite seven when his door opened.

Intent on sneaking out, he did it quietly, but years of being a cop and being a mother told Sharon the moment to pop her head out of the kitchen and catch him just as he reached the end of the hallway.

Rusty froze when he saw her.

"Hey," she said quietly.

He gave her his best deer in the headlights look. The fingers of one hand clenched around the strap of his backpack. In his other hand were his shoes.

"Uh... hey." He made another cautious shuffle towards the door. "You're up early."

There was an accusation there somewhere.

"So are you." She kept her tone neutral, but smiling at him was a reflex. "You heading out?"

"Yeah," he said eagerly, shooting another desperate look at the door. "On my way to the library. I've got a lot of homework to do."

"You'll do it better if you eat first," she said. "There's more than enough for both of us."

Trapped, Rusty shifted from foot to foot. "I know what you're doing," he said at last.

"All right," she said. Rusty liked to avoid for as long as possible any conversation he thought might be uncomfortable, but they couldn't tiptoe around each other forever. "Hear me out."

He braced himself visibly, his fingers tightening around the strap, but he stayed where he was. She thought he was holding his breath.

"If spending time with me right now is difficult, I understand that." She searched his face, and watched him clench his jaw. "If you're worried I'm going to ask about your mom... there have _always_ been things I don't ask you about."

Rusty exhaled, his shoulders slumping as he looked away. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

"I know," she promised him. She trusted that he was in good hands with Dr. Joe. "And I understand. We don't have to talk about anything."

Rusty hesitated. "What'd you make?"

"Waffles," she said. "With chocolate chips."

Another long silence followed. It was Sharon's turn to hold her breath, hoping that he would sit down even as she resigned herself to the possibility that he would continue on his way out the door.

"I guess I could eat," he said finally, and she smiled at him in relief.

"Come on," she said. "Grab a plate."

He leaned over the back of the couch as he passed it, sliding his backpack off and setting it gently on the cushions. He dropped his shoes next to the couch, and continued into the kitchen. She'd stacked the waffles on a wire rack to cool.

"The ones on your right are warmest," she told him.

He took three.

Feeling as though she'd just won a very great victory, Sharon took two for herself. She heard Rusty rifling through the refrigerator as she fixed up her own plate and unplugged the waffle iron, but she was sitting beside him at the table before she realized that he'd grabbed the chocolate syrup instead of maple, and a jar of peanut butter to go with it.

"Just so you know," he said, "I wasn't lying about the homework."

"I know," she assured him. "I remember your booklist. Your classes are going all right, then? Not too much?"

"No," he said. "It's... I made a schedule. It helps."

She didn't know why that made his fingers tighten around a knife, or why there was suddenly naked pain on his face. The smallest things sometimes were reminders of grief.

"But, um—" He cleared his throat, and she watched him swallow several times in quick succession. "They're good. Mostly. I only missed one question on my history quiz, and I'm almost done with my English essay."

He frowned as he smoothed peanut butter across each waffle, and Sharon raised an eyebrow, uncertain if he was still thinking about whatever had upset him or if argumentative writing wasn't quite as interesting as he'd hoped it would be.

"We didn't get to pick our topics," he explained, reaching for the syrup next.

"And you don't like yours?"

He shrugged as he began pouring the chocolate syrup in the center of the waffle, spiraling out from there. When he was satisfied, he stacked a second on top and repeated the process.

Sharon watched him, amused by his precision, even as she couldn't help thinking that these five minutes were the most she'd spent with him in weeks. She'd _missed_ him.

Rusty put the top layer onto his waffle tower and gave the bottle a hard squeeze, sending chocolate flooding across the surface and down the sides. "You want some?" he asked, righting the bottle as he offered it to her.

"I'm fine, thank you."

Rusty didn't say anything else as he picked up his fork, but he didn't rush through the meal in a hurry to get out the door, either. Content to eat in silence, Sharon didn't ask him to talk. This was enough right here.

When he was finished, Rusty took his empty plate with him to the kitchen and returned with two more. "These are really good," he said quietly, almost meeting her eyes. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said. "If you want more later, they'll be in the freezer."

He nodded, and tried to read her watch upside down.

"It's seven fifteen," she said. "I don't want to keep you if you need to be somewhere."

Rusty gave her a guilt-stricken look and stopped chewing.

"The library doesn't open until eleven," he admitted, lowering his eyes. "I was going to go to—uh, somewhere else first."

His lip quivered as he said it. Sharon was filled with the memory of what he'd looked like staring down at his mother's grave, stray tears he couldn't hold back leaking out and sliding silently down his cheeks. She'd stood with her hand on his shoulder for all of it, but he'd been feeling pain beyond comfort then.

She'd wished then, as she wished now, that there was more that she could do for him.

"Oh," she said, and tapped his arm. "Did I tell you Lieutenant Tao accidentally let slip what's happening on the next episode of _Badge of Justice_?"

"Wait." Rusty looked up, abandoning his fascination with his empty place. "You know?"

"I do." Sharon smiled at him. "Of course, I'd understand if you'd rather be surprised."

"Sharon."

"All right," she said. "Who's Patrick Grimes?"

"Wait, he's _back_?" Rusty's eyes brightened, and she saw real enthusiasm for the first time. "He's this, like, really twisted and maniacal serial killer they've been trying to catch since _forever_ , and they almost had him last season but then as soon as they left him in his cell, he set off a bomb and everyone thought he'd committed suicide but really he just escaped to Mexico, and—" She watched him become aware of his own excitement and abruptly deflate, his hands balling themselves up into fists before he hid them in his lap. "And... yeah, that's it."

The flat tone made her heart ache. "Wait," she said, hoping he just needed a little nudge. "They put him into a holding cell but let him keep his explosives?"

He shrugged. "Lieutenant Tao said that sometimes you guys will forget to search people."

"From time to time, it happens," she admitted. "But a bomb, really?"

"It's not _that_ complicated, Sharon." Whatever was left of his good mood faded fast, and Rusty fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, it was really nice of you to make breakfast, but I have to—I should probably..."

"I understand," she said, covering his fingers with hers when he grabbed his plate. She felt him flinch at the contact, and she withdrew her hand. "No, it's all right. I'll clean up."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Will you be here tonight?"

She wasn't sure if he was asking because he wanted to see her or because he didn't. "I'm going out for a bit," she said. "Chief Johnson's in town from DC. I'm meeting her for a quick dinner." She assumed it would be quick. Brenda never liked to socialize. "I should be back before eight."

Rusty nodded. "Thanks again for..." He gestured at the table.

"You're welcome," she said again. "Have a good day, all right?"

"'Sure," he said darkly, pausing only to grab his things on the way out the door. He didn't stop to put his shoes on, either, and carried them out into the hall with him.

Sharon let out a long sigh as the door closed after him.


	2. October

**Thank you for reading! :)**

 **Holding On and Letting Go**

 **Part II: October**

The worst moments were the ones when he just _forgot_. When he talked with Sharon or laughed at a movie or wondered what it would feel like to kiss the guy who sat next to him in his psych class, the one with the nice arms and the really intense eyes. Then it was like the pain was just taking a rest to gather up its strength. Dr. Joe could talk about how this was a normal part of grieving all he wanted, but that didn't keep it from punching him straight in the throat whenever he remembered.

Rusty shivered, freezing in the night air as he leaned against the balcony railing but too stubborn to go back inside for longer sleeves. He was only out here in the first place because when the sudden urge to _go_ somewhere had seized him it had been a quarter to midnight. He was already in pajamas. Sharon would flip out if he went for a walk this time of night, anyway.

He hunched over, watching the cars down below as they drove by. He couldn't tell which one was Sharon's, but she was supposed to be on her way home by now.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to see her tonight or not. She was keeping her promise not to ask him anything and he sometimes felt better when he was around her, but sometimes he felt worse. It was hard to tell.

Forgetting wasn't a problem that he was having right now.

Which was good, because he was having a hard enough time with all the remembering that he was doing.

 _"I'm going to make it to the halfway house this time."_

 _She said it clearly expecting him to be pleased. Rusty tried to smile for her. She'd made it this far. Even if she'd only gotten there by being in jail, that was something she could be proud of._

 _"That's—that's great, Mom." He hoped she wouldn't get lost on the way there again._

 _His mother's smile became a scowl as she added, "Not that they're giving me much of a_ choice. _"_

 _He wasn't holding his breath that she wouldn't, either. Rusty gripped his phone a little harder, his doubt growing with every word she said while he tried not to let it show._

 _"Structure helps," he reminded her. "That's what you said, right? And they're going to help you find a job, aren't they?"_

 _He was a little unclear on who_ they _were, but she seemed sure. Sharon would probably explain it to him, if he asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask her._

 _"I've been out of work so long I won't know where to start." She made a face. "Probably McDonald's or something. Nothing to be excited about."_

 _It was harder to keep his smile in place. She'd had those sorts of jobs before–fast food, grocery stores, retail. She'd quit Burger King because it was "too embarrassing", and she'd been fired from Safeway after money disappeared from her register too many nights in a row. If he asked her now, he was pretty sure she'd still swear she hadn't stolen it._

 _He couldn't remember her having a job after that._

 _"It's just somewhere to start, right?" he said. "Sharon says—"_

 _He froze, fingers tightening around the phone. Across from him, his mother's face hardened. Rusty cringed. He always tried so hard not to upset her, and mentioning Sharon was the fastest way to do that._

 _"Go on," she said, an edge to her voice. "What does_ Sharon _say?"_

 _"Uh... just that, you know..." Rusty gave his mother a wary look. "I really wanted a job last summer. For... after graduation." He didn't tell her what he'd wanted the money for. She might ask for some, and Dr. Joe had helped him see that Lieutenant Flynn was right. If she was going to make it, she needed to learn to support herself. "But, um, when I got the_ Badge of Justice _job, Sharon said that if I worked hard that would make getting my next job easier."_

 _There had been more to the talk when Sharon had given it to him, but he stopped there._

 _Grudgingly, his mother inclined her head. "That's something to think about."_

 _Rusty let out his breath. He cut their visits short whenever his mother called Sharon a bitch, but for the most part, he tried not to mention her at all. His mother was still hurt that he'd let Sharon adopt him._

 _"I..."_

 _He leaned forward again when she hesitated. "What?"_

 _"Never mind," she said, sliding her fingers along the silver length of cord. "You'll laugh."_

 _"I won't," he promised._

 _"You're probably too young to remember this," she said. "But once, when you were real little, I started taking some GED classes. It was too hard to do with you around, but I'm thinking that maybe now..."_

 _"You're going to try again?" The sudden happiness made him able to ignore how guilty he felt whenever he remembered how hard he had made her life. And he knew he had. Maybe it hadn't been his_ fault _, he'd give Dr. Joe that much, but he knew it hadn't been easy for his mother to be on her own with him and no other family or friends to help her out._

 _"Don't get so excited. I'm only thinking about it." But she seemed pleased._

 _"I could help you study," he said. "If you wanted."_

 _"You'd do that?"_

 _"Yeah, Mom, I would." Another thought popped into his head. "I could give you rides to class."_

 _That way, he could help her without actually giving her any money. That would be all right. And that way, he could see her every week, and if something was off he could... he wasn't sure what._

 _She sounded genuinely touched as she said, "I knew I did something right with you."_

 _"Yeah." He swallowed. He didn't have the heart to tell her it hadn't been her. "I've got to get going, Mom, but I'll come see you again as soon as I can."_

 _"Next weekend, okay?" she said. "I'll have things a little more figured out by then."_

 _"Have a good week." He hesitated, but it seemed all right to tell her. "I love you."_

 _"I love you too."_

He hadn't seen her again after that.

Rusty ground his teeth together when the lights across the street all grew blurry. Times like this, he thought he'd be better off forgetting after all.

He was still standing there when Sharon came home. He heard her come in and, with it too late for him to hide in his room before she saw him, stayed where he was, concentrating hard on the closest streetlamp as he blinked the last of the tears out of his eyes.

He felt her eyes on the back of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her standing in the living room, watching him from the other side of the glass door. She didn't say anything, and she didn't join him. Rusty let out a deep breath when she walked away a moment later.

He wanted to be alone.

But.

Before he could work it out, Sharon came back. He heard the door slide quietly open and then closed again, and then Sharon came to stand beside him, not quite touching him but close enough that the sleeve of her bathrobe brushed up against his arm. He didn't look down, but he guessed she was wearing her Uggs with her pajamas.

Without a word, she carefully draped one of his sweatshirts over the railing.

He felt a strong, sudden urge to yell at her. It came from nowhere but filled him from head to toe, and even as he opened his mouth, he knew it was wrong.

"I—" Rusty caught himself without any real idea of what he'd been about to say. Instead, he looked away and mumbled, "I'm not _cold_ , Sharon."

He thought he heard her sigh. She could probably see the goosebumps on his arms.

Just as quickly, the fleeting satisfaction of pushing her away became regret.

Rusty squeezed his eyes shut, his throat burning painfully when he swallowed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

At least he hadn't said anything awful this time, but that didn't make him feel much better. Neither did the realization that Sharon hadn't yet said a word to him.

Wanting to forget one of his mothers and wanting to scream at the other. Maybe his mother had been right about how much he judged her, because he didn't think he was doing so well at being a son right now, either. The burning spread to the inside of his nose.

"It's all right," Sharon said heavily. She sounded so tired. He tried to remember if she'd even come home last night. "I'm not angry."

"It's just that..." He swallowed, trying to disguise a sniffle as a quick inhale as he struggled to explain. "Sometimes, you..."

Sometimes everything she was reminded him of everything his mother wasn't. His mother wouldn't have paid for Sharon's funeral. He knew that.

"I feel like it's not _fair_ to be mad at her now," he said. "When she's not here." It took him a second to realize that made him sound worse, not better. "But it's not fair for me to take it out on you, either."

"I would say very little about this is fair," Sharon said quietly. "I'm not angry, I promise you."

This time, when she pushed the jacket towards him in a less than subtle suggestion, he took it. Suddenly aware of how cold he was, Rusty zipped himself up and buried his hands deep in the pockets. When he looked at Sharon, she'd taken the same stance. Her hands were hidden in her robe.

"She tried to quit," he said. "Before. A couple of times. Do you remember, how I told you about me learning to drive..."

"I do."

"She felt really bad about that," he said. "She said—and I _believed_ her. I was such an idiot."

"You were twelve," Sharon said. She did that a lot. Reminded him that he'd been a kid, even if he hadn't felt like one. "But it's never easy realizing you've been lied to, I know."

Oh.

"Did, uh..." He hoped he wasn't crossing a line. "Did Jack..."

Sharon was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Rusty worried he'd upset her, and he wished he could cram the words back inside where they couldn't hurt anyone.

"Oh yes," she said finally. Sharon rearranged her arms, folding them across her chest. Like him, she was watching him while she pretended to stare at the building across the street. "Many times."

"Did he ever make things sound so good you couldn't see how everything wouldn't work out?" he asked. "And then when they _didn't_ , when you thought about it again it was so obvious that they wouldn't, you couldn't figure out how you'd ever believed him?"

"Many, _many_ times." She sounded sad.

"My mom was making plans," he said. "She was talking about how she was going to get a job and go back to school and all of these things. And... maybe she could've done it. I don't know. She'd never stayed clean that long before. But then I started thinking about all of the other times and how she couldn't do it then, and... I was just worried that she'd start using again."

That was what he'd been worrying about, after she'd already died but before Sharon had told him.

His mother had never been great at sobriety.

She'd promised him before that she would quit. Usually after a bad breakup. She'd talk about how she wanted them to make a fresh start, just her and her little boy. He'd promise to help her... but he'd had to go to school, and it was when he wasn't around that she would break down and he'd come home to _the only problem I have is you_ or _don't you sit there and judge me_. On really bad days, he had gotten shoved out the door and been told to never come back.

So this time, when she'd made it to three hundred and forty-four days, long enough for him to have his mother back, his real mother, the way she had been before all of that... He'd known it would hurt more to lose her this time. He just hadn't expected it to happen like this.

At least this way, he'd seen her two days before and she'd known who he was. She'd told him that she loved him.

That was the last thing she'd ever said to him.

Maybe someday it would make him feel better.

He could feel his eyes welling up again.

Sharon shifted beside him to tuck her fingers beneath her arms. Rusty blinked the tears away and took a good look at her for the first time since she'd stepped out onto the balcony. That earlier shame returned, a giant ball of guilt slowly coalescing in his stomach. Her eyes were shut all the way now, and there were dark circles beneath them. He was pretty sure she hadn't gotten any sleep since the day before yesterday. Had he even asked if she'd solved her case?

"You... Sharon, you can _go_ ," he said.

She didn't need to stand here with him all night.

Her head tilted towards him, like she knew he was watching her. She didn't open her eyes. "In a moment."

"I don't really wanna talk anymore."

The thing about Sharon was that he could say that and she wouldn't think that he was lying or hiding anything.

He felt her hand settle on his shoulder, her touch warm even though the layers he was wearing. It made him feel... better. Somehow.

When he looked over at her, she was watching him. He'd gotten used to what he saw when she did that, but sometimes it was hard to take in just how much she loved him.

Rusty swallowed, lowering his eyes as they began prickling again.

"Did you solve your murder?"

"We did." Sharon let go of his shoulder to rub her forehead. "I'm not sure I want to discuss that right now, either."

That probably meant it had been a kid. Or someone who reminded her of _her_ kids.

"But," she added, "we've made our arrest, and we'll finalize the deal in the morning. It ended as well as it could have."

He didn't know how to answer, but she didn't seem to need one.

This time, her arm slid all the way around his shoulders. It wasn't exactly a hug, but it wasn't exactly not one, either. "You going to stay out here awhile longer?"

He nodded. Not too much longer. "Thank you," he said, finally turning fully to face her. "For... everything."

Sharon lifted a hand, her expression fond as she smoothed down his bangs. "Just don't stay out here _all_ night, all right?"

"I won't," he promised. "I'll come in soon. Good night."

"Good night." At the door, she turned back. "Love you."

"I—" His throat tightened up, so he just nodded and hoped she knew the rest. He thought she did, because she gave him a smile and a little nod before she stepped inside.


	3. November

**Notes:** Sorry, guys. The entire story _is_ actually written, but for some reason I just could _not_ edit this. And then you tell people you're moving 2000 miles away and suddenly they want to hang out all the time so I've been a little busy. The December chapter will hopefully be up in a couple of days, and then I will write... something else, I have no idea. Probably all of the things I meant to write during the hiatus, but didn't. Thank you for all of your comments! YAY SEASON FOUR.

 **Holding On and Letting Go**

 **Part III: November**

"It's just doesn't _feel_ like Thanksgiving without the... weird green Jell-O thing."

"You know, I think I'd finally managed to forget about that." Sharon smiled to herself, holding the phone to her shoulder with her cheek as she used both hands to root through her cabinets. She could've sworn there was another can of pumpkin in there somewhere.

"Emily likes it," Ricky insisted. "She'll help me eat it. She's still coming, right?"

"She's got her tickets," Sharon said, frowning as she continued looking. "They're still saying the storm might be a bad one. It might end up being just the three of us."

"Have you heard from Dad lately?"

"Ah..." Her hand closed around a can of chicken noodle soup. "No, not really. He looked like he was doing well the last time I ran into him."

"I'll give him a call when I get there, I guess," Ricky said. "Maybe he'll have some time."

"I think he'd be glad to see you," Sharon said. "I know he had a good time when you were here last summer."

"Yeah, he took me everywhere. I never knew he was so into old Hollywood."

Sharon smiled faintly. "He spent a couple of summers working as a tour guide."

"No way." Ricky's laughter came out garbled. "Wait til I tell Emily."

" _There_ it is." Sharon spotted the orange label she was looking for behind a jar of artichoke hearts and some cans of tuna. "Okay. I think I've got everything I need for the pumpkin pies. I'm going to go buy as much as I can today, is there anything else you want?"

Ricky named another dozen things, thankfully none of which were elements of her mother's oddly colored Jell-O concoction.

"All right," she said, scribbling the last ingredient at the bottom of the list she had clipped to the refrigerator. "If you think of anything else, call me. I'll make another trip later in the week."

"Okay," Ricky said. "Talk to you soon, Mom. Love you."

"Love you too."

She did hope he called Jack. Sharon tried to keep her interactions with her ex-husband civil but minimal. Their history was... messy, to say the least, and it was an added layer of complication that when they ran into each other nowadays, it was usually because he there to either defend someone accused of a crime or to help them sue the LAPD.

But since January, he'd been far more courteous towards her than she'd come to expect in the past, and he kept the talk mostly about the kids. She knew better than to think it would last forever, because they'd been down this road before, but Emily and Ricky were happy.

List in hand, Sharon started down the hall.

Rusty had been doing better lately, she thought, but there was no telling how he would feel a week from now and Thanksgiving wasn't the only important date coming up.

When she knocked on his door, he appeared to be having a good day.

"You can come in."

He lay sprawled out on top of the covers, headphones stuck in both ears and the other end plugged into his phone. He wore a t-shirt and sweatpants, his version of the compromise Sharon made between wearing pajamas around the house and feeling dressed.

There was a textbook open in front of him, on top of which he balanced a notebook. She couldn't see what he was writing, but he'd filled up most of the page.

Initially, she'd been worried that school starting so soon after his mother's death would overwhelm him. Now she was more worried about what he would do during winter break when he didn't have anything to distract him.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Busy day?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing down at his textbook. "History test on Monday, so..."

"Lots of studying?"

"Yeah."

"I just wanted to let you know I'm going out." She held up the list. "Is there anything you'd like from the store?"

He shook his head. Then: "Oh. Wait, Ricky wanted garlic... something."

"Garlic parmesan croutons," she said. "I know. He reminded me too."

"That," he said. "Wait, can you get cheese for the potatoes too?"

"Which kind?"

"I dunno," he said. "The normal kind."

"So, cheddar?"

"I guess," he said. "But can you get the one that comes already shredded?"

"Okay," she said. "Anything else?"

"That's it," he said. "Wait, and eggs."

Eggs and cheese. Shredded cheese. She could remember that.

"And ice cream for the pies." Rusty gave her a sheepish look. "I think that's really it."

"Text me if you think of anything else," she said. "Unless you'd like to come with me. We could stop for lunch on the way."

Rusty's good mood seemed to diminish. Spread out across the bed the way he was, it was hard for him to hunch his shoulders but he managed to do so anyway. He looked away, staring down at the book open in front of him.

Sharon tried not to frown, and gave him the easiest out she could think of. "If studying could spare you for an hour or two, of course."

He took his time answering.

Sometimes she wished she could read his mind. She knew which were the biggest issues to stay away from. But then there were the smaller things, the little off-hand mentions that triggered one memory or another that she had no way of knowing in advance.

"Just to the store?"

"Unless there's somewhere else you need to go?"

"I..." Still, he wavered. "Can we go to the pie place?"

* * *

They did go to the pie place.

Sharon liked it because it was close to home, and the pies made her mouth water. She could take or leave the food, but Rusty had tried nearly everything on the menu at least once and liked most of it. She ordered the turkey sandwich. Rusty spent a good five minutes flipping between the burgers and the breakfasts before he settled on a cheeseburger.

They were quiet as they waited for their food. Rusty fiddled around with his water glass, the ice cubes rattling around as he toyed with it. He sat facing away from her, his expression blank as he stared out the window. It wasn't a position that invited conversation. Sharon didn't press. Silence had been their normal lately. For the most part, it had relaxed from a strained silence into a comfortable one, as Rusty had stopped bracing himself in expectation of all the questions he was afraid that she would ask.

Sharon saw a lot of death and a lot of grief, but it was a different sort. She saw the immediate, raw pain, more shock and denial than anything else. She didn't have to watch the people whose lives she disrupted learn to live with the suffering.

Rusty carried it with him everywhere, even when he wasn't consciously dwelling on it.

He settled down when his food came, turning to sit normally as he ate.

"Did you make any big plans for the break?" She waited until he'd eaten most of his fries to ask.

"Not really." Rusty swirled a fry through a puddle of ketchup. "Sean wanted to hang out some but then he decided to spend all vacation in San Diego with his grandparents."

"Oh?" She didn't remember a Sean, but he'd kept a lot to himself lately.

"He's in my psych class." Rusty's face turned faintly pink. "He's cool. He wants to do, like... some kind of music therapy? I don't know. He wanted me to hear some of the songs he wrote."

"That does sound interesting." Sharon hid a smile. "When's he coming back?"

"It's not a big _deal_ , Sharon." Rusty fidgeted, and she saw a tiny smile begin to emerge before he ducked his head. "But Saturday. Night."

"I'm glad you're making friends." She'd hoped that he would connect with his classmates at St. Joseph's, and he hadn't really.

"There's Josh too," he said. "Did I tell you about him?"

"I don't think so, no." As inconsequential a pain as it was, really, Sharon found herself unexpectedly sad to realize how little she knew about what was going on in his life recently. "Is he in the same class?"

"Yeah. He studies with us sometimes," Rusty told her. "Him and his girlfriend Paige."

She'd always liked that name. "Are they nice?"

"Yeah," he said. "They are, and—" He stopped suddenly and looked away, busying himself with the last few fries on his plate. She could practically see the curtain come down across his face.

"And?" Sometimes she could get him talking again.

"And—and just don't... make a big deal about it, okay?"

"Hey," she said. "When have I ever done that?"

That got a smile out of him, at least. "And I don't have to feel weird around them, because Paige's two sisters are adopted so that's like, just _normal_ to them."

Sharon nodded, carefully selecting one of her own fries. "I think you'll often find that you have more in common with people than it seems at first."

"They don't know the whole thing. I didn't want to explain about my mom." He said it without grimacing this time. He was getting used to it. She knew that had to hurt almost as much as losing her. "But they know I'm adopted, and that I'm usually talking about you."

Telling him she was proud of him was probably exactly the sort of reaction he'd just asked her not to make. She settled for smiling at him, though inside she was bursting with it. "It sounds like you're very comfortable with them."

"I guess." He shrugged. "Dr. Joe helped a lot."

"I'm glad," she said.

"He helps with a lot of stuff." He looked away again, tugging anxiously at his sleeves. It was one of his tells, and when she saw it, she knew they'd reached the part of the conversation where he told her what was really on his mind. "Next week isn't _just_ Thanksgiving."

"No," Sharon agreed. "It's not."

Rusty stared at his plate.

Last year, it has seemed so fitting, adopting him just before Thanksgiving.

Rusty seemed at a loss for words, and Sharon was struggling herself.

"Look—"

"I—"

They spoke at the same time. Sharon motioned for him to go ahead.

"Do we have to talk about it?"

"No," she said at last. "But before we do that, there are some things I would like to be clear about. If I may."

She wished now that she had brought it up sooner.

Rusty opened his mouth. Then he closed it again, giving her a wary look.

"That's a question," she said. "I promise."

Finally, he nodded.

"I want you to know that I understand—completely—if your feelings are complicated," she said.

He made a quiet huff.

"If you would _like_ to celebrate your adoption, I'm more than happy to do that, of course," she went on. "If you _don't_ want to, for _whatever_ reason, we can just have Thanksgiving."

Rusty hesitated. "That wouldn't bother you?"

"Not at all," she promised.

"Yeah." He let out a deep breath. "I think, maybe... yeah."

"All right," she said. "That's what we'll do."

Still, he looked worried, watching her from beneath his bangs. "Was that it?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Still, his jaw was tense, and he was chewing on his lip. "And that's... okay?"

 _Rusty._

"Of _course_ it's okay."

"Oh," he said again.

The truth was, none of it was okay.

"Sharon?"

She looked at him.

"You know I'm still... I'm really _glad_ you're my mom," he said. "Right?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Sharon nodded. He so rarely said it. He didn't need to, but she couldn't deny that she loved it.

"But she's my mom too, and..." He gave her a helpless look and and a shrug.

"I understand."

Rusty stared down at his hands.

The not talking about it started now, then.

Quietly, Sharon cleared her throat. "Are you ready to head out, or did you save room for dessert?"

There was a trace of a smile in his face as he said, "It's called the pie place for a _reason_ , Sharon."


	4. December

**Notes:** There's one more part to this that I'll post in the next couple of days. I have another story that I'm working on for after that with an actual plot and everything (... plot still to be determined), but it might be a couple of weeks before I start posting that. Thank you for reading!

 **Holding On and Letting Go**

 **Part IV: December**

Rusty smelled the tree before he saw it, a fresh, tingly sort of piney smell entering his nose as soon as he entered the condo. Sharon had solved her case, then. Either that, or being more than a day into December without a tree or decorations had gotten to her and she'd taken a break long enough to buy a tree and gone back to work, but her keys were there.

"Rusty?"

"Yeah," he called back.

He sometimes wondered who else she expected. Jack had given his key back. Sharon had changed the locks anyway. He knew none of her friends had keys. He didn't think Sharon really liked having people over. She usually went out to meet people.

Except at Christmas. She'd been disappointed last year when it looked like her Christmas party might not happen.

Christmas was the exception to most of Sharon's rules, really.

"Hey." She looked up when he entered the living room, smiling. "Where are you coming from?"

"I went back to school after I saw Dr. Joe," he said, cautiously eyeing the boxes spread out on the couch and across the coffee table. Sharon had done more than just get a tree. "For a little bit. The TA for my history class is having study sessions for our final."

"Was that helpful?" She reached down, taking two of the weird little angels with no faces from a box on the edge of the coffee table.

"Not really." Rusty began carefully shifting some boxes out of the way to make room for himself on the couch. "Maybe if I'd never shown up to class before."

"Reviewing the basic facts is often quite helpful."

"It's not really a basic facts kind of final, Sharon." And he knew who won the Civil War.

"You might be surprised," she said, still weighing the angels in her hands.

She thought he should keep going, then.

"I thought you could never have too many angels."

She snorted. But she hung both on the tree, and let him change the subject. "I think I'll put the bows back on the wall this year," she said. "I liked the effect."

Whatever that was.

"I liked them better on the tree."

He hadn't really, but she'd been very particular about each bow being exactly centered. _Very_ particular.

"Hm." Sharon frowned at the wall, then looked at the tree. "I think I have enough that we can do both."

"You can never have too many bows?" he suggested, and she laughed.

"No." She crouched down, rummaging through a box at her feet. "So, how was it with Dr. Joe today?"

This was the one question that Sharon ever asked where he could get away with one-word answers. "Good."

Sharon nodded, straightening up with the tree topper angel in her hand. "Good."

"We..." Rusty hesitated.

Sharon went back to the tree, but her head turned towards him just a little.

"He said that sometimes you miss people more on holidays," Rusty said. "I don't know, though. Christmas wasn't really her thing."

Maybe that was for people who had more memories.

He could remember a small Christmas tree thrown up in a corner of a messy apartment and before she'd pawned the radio in her car, sometimes she'd let him listen to the Christmas stations. Once, after Christmas but still before New Year's, they'd gotten a tube of snowman cookie dough on sale for a dollar. But mostly, Christmas was like his birthday. It was one of those things he only celebrated with Sharon.

When Sharon's hand settled gently on his shoulder, he realized he was staring blankly at the tree. He hadn't even seen her come around to his side of the table.

"I know you miss her," she said. "I'm so sorry."

She'd said the same thing to him a few Christmases ago.

When he leaned forward, Sharon's hand shifted, coming to rest between his shoulder blades. He braced his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands as he considered all of Sharon's little angels.

"Can you—like, do you think... is it possible to miss something that was never real?'

She sat beside him, the two of them squeezed into the small space he'd cleared free of ornament boxes, her thumb stroking slowly back and forth. "How do you mean?"

"I miss her," he said. "But sometimes... I think I miss the person I wanted her to be. Does that make any sense."

"I think so," Sharon said. "You didn't want to stop hoping that she would change."

"Yeah." Rusty swallowed. "I didn't even think she _would_ , really."

Sharon's arm slid the rest of the way around him.

He hadn't wished for a mother like her. He hadn't known enough to.

"Do you think she loved me?"

"I do," Sharon said quietly. "As best she could."

Her best hadn't been very good.

"She didn't like me very much, though."

Sharon liked him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

He shouldn't do it. He knew that. It was a terrible question, and whatever her answer was, it wouldn't help.

"Are you ever glad she's dead?"

Sharon's arm was still across his shoulders, so he felt her freeze. Rusty held his breath as she carefully unwound her arm and withdrew it, her expression horrified as she turned to face him. "Of course not," she said. "Rusty... I adopted you knowing that I'd always be sharing you with her."

"Right," he choked out. "I know."

Sharon still looked concerned. "If I've ever said anything to imply—"

"No," he said. "You haven't. Just... forget about it."

Sharon's eyes narrowed suddenly, and Rusty looked away, his eyes fixed firmly on his knees like that would keep her from figuring it out. But she did, of course, and he knew exactly when it happened, because she let out a very slow, very quiet breath.

He couldn't look at her.

He couldn't breathe, either, and he felt his cheeks turning warm.

"Oh," Sharon said quietly. "Rusty..."

He tried to take it back, tell her that he didn't mean it, but his throat wouldn't work. His mouth opened and he felt his lips struggling to form the words, but none came. The pain in his throat extended down into his chest like a fist had wrapped itself around his heart and then shoved it down into his stomach.

"Rusty." In the blurry peripherals of his vision, Sharon leaned closer.

"Don't say it's okay." He finally got the words out. "It's not _okay_ , Sharon."

Her fingertips brushed his shoulder.

She stiffened in surprise when his arms went around her. That made everything hurt worse, because Sharon wasn't the one who was supposed to flinch at touching. He almost pulled back, but then her arms wrapped around him and she pulled him into her, holding on with the sort of iron grip that had surprised him the first time.

Rusty tucked his face into her shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut, but he felt a few tears leaked out into her hair when she lay her hand on the back of his head. He swallowed as hard as he could, trying to keep the rest of them in.

He managed, in the end. It felt like trying to choke down glass, and the pain of it made him dig his fingers into Sharon's back.

Her hands worked gentle circles into his shoulders.

He turned his head, resting his cheek on her shoulder. "I'm not really glad," he whispered, feeling tears sting at his eyes again.

The slow motion of her hands stilled when she wrapped her arms around him again. He knew without needing to look that she'd laced her fingers together. "I know."

"It's just—my whole life, I..." He could hardly understand himself.

Slowly, as his breathing slowed to match Sharon's, his fingers unclenched. The knot in his throat worked itself free, and Rusty swallowed again.

Sharon loosened her hold on him without nudging him away, and he held a moment longer before lifting his head. When he was brave enough to look her in the eye, there was no judgment there. Instead, her look was warm, and she reached up to smooth his bangs back into place.

"Better?" she asked gently, and he nodded.

He tried again. "My whole life, I had to worry about her. Even when she was gone, I did. I told the cops Gary kidnapped her."

"I know," she said. "I read the police report."

Of course she had. "I guess I kind've knew he hadn't." Back then, it had been easier to think that someone had _made_ her leave him. It still was.

"I was still worried," he continued. "Like—like, was she going to start using again, like when she got out of rehab? Was she going to get arrested again? I didn't want her to end up in prison."

Sharon nodded.

"And I know... like, Dr. Joe and I have been over this," he said. "it doesn't mean I don't love her. I know that. But... but I don't have to worry about her anymore. And whenever I think about _that_..."

"You feel a little relieved?" she said, when he shrugged..

"Yeah," he said, feeling ashamed of himself all over again.

He _knew_ that his mother hadn't been a great mother.

In a way, leaving him at the zoo had been the best thing she'd ever done for him. Whenever he let himself think about the sort of future he would have had if he'd done the rest of his growing up with her, he couldn't imagine anything that he liked. Assuming that he'd made it that far, because Gary's temper had been growing shorter and shorter, and whenever they got into it, the fights had been longer and longer.

But being left once before had prepared him for what it felt like to be going about his day and be hit out of nowhere with a reminder of her, and that almost-year on the streets had taught him how to never cry in front of people, so he didn't have to worry about breaking down in the middle of class when he saw one of his classmates with a keychain from the Griffith Park zoo or spotted a blond woman in her thirties walking across campus wearing a yellow shirt.

He thought yellow had been her favorite color.

He was pretty sure she'd had no idea what his was.

After she'd left him the first time, he'd thought that maybe she'd been right. He'd been too hard on her, about Gary and the drugs and... everything. He felt different now, especially after the scene she'd made at the rehab place, but he still didn't like to think of it as abuse.

The more time he spent with Sharon, the harder it was _not_ to, because she'd been angry at him plenty of times without ever acting the way that his mother had. He'd heard her argue with Ricky and Emily a couple of times. She was sharper with them than she was with him, but she never screamed, or threw things, or hit any of them.

She never acted like she didn't love them when she was angry.

Rusty loved his mother, but sometimes he wasn't sure why.

Sharon loved him all the time. She'd made that really clear. But no matter how he looked at their situation, it always seemed to Rusty that he'd gotten the better end of their deal and for whatever reason, Sharon just didn't care.

He shook his head when the concern on her face deepened, knowing he'd been quiet for too long.

"I think I'll get dinner started," Sharon said. "Unless you've already eaten?"

"No," he said. "Someone brought brownies to the study thing. That's all I've had."

"Okay," she said, touching his shoulder again as she got up. "If you want to give me a hand, we can keep talking. About something else, if you'd rather."

He could tell that she knew he did. Rusty stood, following her into the kitchen.


	5. January

**Notes:** Last part! Thank you all for reading. I've started another story but I'm moving from California to Illinois tomorrow (!) so... I have no idea when I'll start posting that. I'm giving casefic another try, and it'll probably be set in some kind of AU parallel to canon S4, I haven't decided yet.

 **Holding On and Letting Go**  
 **Part V: January**

It was a pleasant, balmy day, bright and sunny and warm enough to run the air conditioner in the car. It was also breezy. Sharon carried her jacket with her, folded over one arm. Rusty didn't bother with one. He wore one of his long-sleeved plaids and toyed with the hem for the entire drive, his eyes fixed somewhere between his lap and his feet.

They spoke little in the car, and less out of it.

Cemeteries were always quiet.

Sharon had always found it a peaceful quiet, but there was nothing serene about the pained grimace on Rusty's face.

She followed him. She hadn't been back here since the burial in July. Rusty clearly had been, because he showed no hesitation in his movements. She knew when they were getting close when he started dragging his feet.

It was a short walk. She remembered that, and remembered being grateful for it, because Rusty had walked with jerky steps and stiff, unbending legs.

When they stopped, at the edge of a long row, near enough the wall that the space was shaded by shadow and a tall tree, Rusty released a shaky breath and bowed his head.

Sharon followed his eyes downward, to the stone that read simply:  
 _Sharon Beck_  
 _Beloved Mother_  
 _1979 – 2015_

Rusty had agonized over the word choice. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to say _Loving Mother_. He knew who she was, and he loved her anyway. That was the part that hurt Sharon's heart the most.

It was funny, Rusty had told her bitterly one night. Funny how her heart had killed her, when sometimes he hadn't known she'd had one.

Then his face had crumpled, and he'd fled the kitchen before she could see him cry.

His face was blank now. What he saw as he stared down at the grave marker, she didn't know.

There had been things that Sharon wanted for Rusty's other mother. Sobriety. Insight. Therapy. She had hoped that, somehow, Sharon Beck would find her way to some kind of stability. Despite everything, Rusty had wanted her in his life. Sharon had wanted her to appreciate that for the gift it was.

Sharon lowered her eyes, studying the slab of granite.

They had helped him pay for the burial. He would sooner have dug the grave himself than ask anyone for money. He'd had enough, barely, saved up from working on the Badge of Justice set. Sharon wasn't sure what had changed his mind about accepting their help, but she was grateful.

But the marker, he had insisted on paying for himself.

"Sharon," Rusty said hoarsely.

She lifted her head, and waited.

Rusty shook his head.

"Would you like me to give you a minute?" When he nodded, she told him, "I'll wait by the car. Stay as long as you need."

She hesitated, her hand extended towards his shoulder when she passed, but she walked away without touching him. She wasn't sure he would appreciate that now.

Sharon waited outside of the car for Rusty, leaning against it with her arms folded across her chest. From where she stood, she could just see him, a small, sad figure with his hands shoved deep inside his pockets.

She'd spent years carrying around the dread of someday having to tell her children that their father was dead. Her fears had all come true with a different child and a different parent, but it had been every bit as terrible she'd thought it would be, and worse.

 _"Are you sure it's her?"_

 _Behind Rusty's head, she saw Lieutenant Provenza grimace._

 _"Yes." Sharon swallowed. "Honey, I am so—"_

 _"You're just_ _ _—you're__ wrong _, Sharon, okay?" he said, white-faced. He shook his head wildly from side to side. "You made a mistake. It's not—it_ can't _be her, okay? Okay, Sharon?"_

 _"Rusty..."_

 _He batted away the hand she stretched out to him. "No, but see, I—I_ just _talked to her, Sharon." Blood returned to his cheeks, his face flushing as his voice rose insistently. "So you just have to_ call _them back and_ tell _them that."_

 _She shook her head._

 _She remained sitting when he jumped to his feet. She'd wanted to tell him here, in her office, so he wouldn't have to think about it every time he walked through the door at home. She'd been kidding herself to think it would make a difference._

 _"I'm sorry."_

 _"You're not_ listening _to me, Sharon." Rusty paced a small, tight circle around his chair. He stopped facing Provenza. "What about you, Lieutenant? Can't you—you have to_ do _something."_

 _Provenza cleared his throat. "Sit down, son."_

 _And Rusty did._

 _He almost fell into the chair as the fight left him. He doubled over, head hanging between his knees, and brought his arms up to cover his face. His breath came in marked, measured pants, his shoulders rising sharply with each one._

 _Sharon could hardly breathe herself. The lump formed in the back of her throat, just under her chin, and her chest burned with every swallow she made._

 _Rusty flinched when she touched his shoulder. Sharon jerked her hand back, her fingers hovering in midair over his head as she looked despairingly at Provenza. He stared back silently._

 _Rusty straightened up abruptly. Sharon pulled her hand back the rest of the way, interlacing her fingers in her lap as she waited for him. His face was red and his bangs were on end, but otherwise, his expression was composed and when he spoke, he sounded calm._

 _"How much did she take?" he asked._

 _What was left of her heart broke then. "It wasn't an overdose," she said, speaking slowly as she watched his face. "She wasn't high."_

 _Rusty gave her a blank stare. "It... wasn't?"_

 _"No." Sharon shook her head. "She had a heart attack."_

 _"I don't—" Rusty shook his head. "I don't understand."_

 _"Dr. Morales believes that her drug use may have been a contributing factor,' she said. "When we know everything, I'll tell you."_

 _"Oh," Rusty said, and leaned forward, burying his face in his arms once again._

Rusty took less time than she expected.

It was hard to tell from a distance, but she thought she saw him scrub his face with the cuff of his sleeve.

When he reached her, instead of going around to the passenger side, he stood beside her and leaned back against the car. He was taller than her today, but when he slouched and slid down, his shoulders were even with hers.

Sharon waited.

And waited.

Rusty kicked the ground, his toe scuffing against the pavement. "I thought she'd be back in jail by now."

Sharon hummed quietly in response. She'd wondered the same thing, if the first trip to jail would be Sharon Beck's rock bottom, or if there were more depths to be found there.

"Do you think she would've?"

"It's impossible to know."

"Dr. Joe thinks I shouldn't fixate on that."

Dr. Joe didn't generally use the word fixate. Sharon smiled faintly. "I think he's right."

He was silent.

"It's easier said than done, I know."

"Yeah." Rusty folded his arms so that his pose mimicked hers, leaning forward as he hunched his shoulders defensively. "I just keep _thinking_..."

The same thoughts had kept her awake at night once. Swallowing, Sharon nodded. Rusty let out a shaky breath. When his tense shoulders quivered, she chanced reaching out to him, her hand hovering in the air between them until he nodded his head.

He relaxed when she rubbed his shoulder. She would've liked better to hug him properly, to just pull him into her arms and let him hold on until he hurt just a little less, but he didn't seem to want that right now.

"I could've died," Rusty said.

It came from absolutely nowhere. Sharon frowned, doing her level best not to let on that she felt sick every time he reminded her.

"On the streets," he elaborated. "Or, like, that Wade guy, he almost killed me."

"But he didn't," Sharon said. It had taken months to forgive herself for that.

"No, but Sharon, just listen—" Rusty turned to face her. "If something happened to me, like before my mom came back—would you have told her what happened to me?"

"If she had come looking for you?"

"Yeah."

"I would have, yes."

"So..." Rusty hesitated. "So you wouldn't think that because she left me, she didn't deserve to know?"

"No." The opposite, in fact. Truth was its own punishment sometimes. "Why do you ask?"

"Can I ask you a question?" At her look, he added, "I'll tell you, I promise. Just... one question?"

"All right," she said.

"It's kind of a personal question."

"Go ahead."

"What would you have done, if Emily had gotten pregnant?"

She been expecting something about Jack, but even as she felt her eyebrows rise in surprise, Sharon thought she could see where Rusty was heading with this. "At your age, you mean?"

"Or... younger, I guess."

"I think I would've worried a lot," she said. Beside her, Rusty snorted. She'd been serious, but it made her smile. "I always told her that I hoped she would feel safe coming to me."

There was much, much more, but she thought that was the part that he wanted.

"You guys talked about it?"

She hated how surprised he sounded to realize it. "We did," she said. "I wouldn't have wanted her to make any decisions out of fear, or any decisions that were less than fully informed."

"And you wouldn't have kicked her out." That, at least, didn't sound like a question.

"No," she agreed.

Rusty slumped down a little further. "I need a favor."

"Okay."

"It's kind of a big favor," he said.

"Don't worry about that," she told him. "Do you want me to find your mother's parents?"

"Can you?" he asked. "Like, is that legal?"

"Death notifications are part of my job," she reminded him.

Rusty shrugged. "When my father—Daniel—whoever—when he first showed up, you said you couldn't look him up."

"Oh," she said, remembering. "That was about background checks and you're right, I can't run one of those."

"That's all right," he said. "I don't want to meet them. They threw her out, Sharon. Or... maybe she ran away, I guess," he said, a frown crossing his face. It was always hard to know what was true and what wasn't, with Sharon Beck. "But—but even if she did, she wouldn't have if things were good. Right?"

Sharon hesitated. "I don't know," she told him. "I don't think it's unreasonable to say that your mother was probably unhappy at home."

"It's why _I_ ran away," he said. "From foster care. The first time, I mean. Before I, you know."

Surprised, she turned for a better look at him. Whatever had happened in that foster home, he'd never brought it up before. That seemed to be all that he wanted to say, because he shrugged and kicked the pavement another time. "Anyway. I don't want to meet them. You wouldn't want to meet my mom if I weren't here, would you?"

Her stomach made another unpleasant little twist at the hypothetical. "I think I would, actually."

"Really?"

"It would help me understand," she said.

"Understand what?"

"You."

He frowned. "You think I should meet them?"

"Not necessarily," she told him. "I'm only explaining how I think _I_ would feel."

"Oh," he said. "I still say I don't want to."

"You don't have to," she said. "Although... you should be aware that they will probably ask about _you_ , and you may run into them."

He scoffed. "Where?"

"Well... here, for example."

"Oh," he said again. "I hadn't really thought about that."

"I'm not trying to change your mind," she promised him. Truth be told, she was relieved. Not because she wanted to keep him for herself, but she was tired of seeing him hurt by the people who should've been his family. "Meeting them, or not, is your choice. I just don't want to see you surprised."

"You really think they'll ask about me?"

"It's likely." Sharon regarded him in silence for a moment. "I'll tell them as much or as little as you'd like me to. If you want to take a couple of days to think about it—"

"Just tell them that I'm okay." He cut her off. "If that's enough."

"All right," she said quietly. "If they ask, that's what I'll tell them."

"I'm doing the right thing, though, right?" he asked. "Like... when she was gone, when I didn't see her for three years, that was terrible. Knowing that she was out there somewhere, and wondering if she ever thought about me..."

He let out a shaky breath. "It was just really _hard_. And even if her parents are totally awful people, twenty years is a long time to wonder."

"It's a very long time," she said. "I think you're doing exactly the right thing."

"Thank you," he said. "And thanks for—you've just been really great about _everything_."

Sometimes, he wanted a response, some kind of reminder that there was something in this for her. She thought all he wanted now was to say it. Sharon nodded slowly, and Rusty inched closer, until the length of his arm pressed against hers.

"You okay?"

He nodded.

She watched him stare out over where they'd been, a faraway look in his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, he no longer felt like sharing. When his gaze focused again, he straightened up without saying anything.

"You ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She felt his hand on her elbow. That was all the warning that she had before he wrapped his arms around her awkwardly from the side. With one of her arms trapped between them, Sharon returned the hug one-armed, her hand resting on the back of his neck.

He whispered something indistinct that sounded like something between a _thank you_ and an _I love you_ , like he'd started with one and then changed his mind halfway through, and then he shifted, freeing her arm.

Nodding, Sharon wrapped both arms around him and held on.


End file.
